


Trip Mines & Broken Hearts

by BlinderDevilsWoman



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), Peaky Blinders RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26354377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlinderDevilsWoman/pseuds/BlinderDevilsWoman
Summary: The blonde haired girl that had caught his eye stood nervously on a chair, eyeing the man sitting in front of her."Happy or sad?" She asked."Sad," he replied."Okay, but I warn you, I'll break your heart."There was a silence."Already broken."Your half hearted smile hardly reached your eyes, and anyone who knew you could see it was fake.Your husband settled down next to you in bed, almost reaching out and clasping your fingers in his."Are you happy?" He asked."Why won't I be?" You whispered, looking away."You look like your heart's about to break."Your smile finally reached your eye and this time there was a twinkle in your eyes."Already broken," you whispered only to yourself.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 82





	1. Prologue

If anything could be called ugly, then it had to be the war. Whatever the war touched, it burnt it down, swallowed people as a whole and spat them out but what was left wasn't the person that they were before it. Men came out changed, scarred, both physically but also emotionally. War haunted them— the faces of the men they'd killed came flashing in front of their eyes at night, causing them to double over in their own fit, struggling to get themselves a strong dose of opium to ease the pain. 

But it wasn't only those who were fighting on the front lines that suffered the consequences of the war. It was all those who lost their family members, all women who saw their husbands, fathers and sons leave; it was all the nurses that packed their bags and left in that train, to fight alongside the men, from the border, with their heads held high. _And you were one of them._

It was countless hours often— none of the nurses ate or drank. The tiny, cramped tent that served as a makeshift hospital in France was suffocating; especially when the cries never ended. Patient after patient was brought in. 

Someone missed a leg — blown off in a trip mine in the tunnels. 

One man had eight bullets lodged to his chest; and you were surprised how he was even alive. 

Then there was the blood. No matter where you looked, the left or the right, you saw blood splattered over the gurneys and on the walls. 

You had gotten so used to the suffering by now; that you believed you were now immune to feeling anything anymore; atleast not in the bright daylight. But when the sun went down and you finally sat down on your tiny bed at the back of the tent where you knew a few yards away, the rotting corpses still lay— your breathing hitched, your mouth gaped open and you wanted to scream; but nothing came out. All that came out was a muffled sob and warm, salty tears rolling down your cheeks. 

To think of it now, years after the war ended; and all those who _survived_ boarded the train back home and came back; the only thing or the only person that kept you going; back in France was _him_. His name was Thomas Shelby. 

That was all you knew about him. 

And that he had captivating blue eyes— eyes that you could lose yourself in. 

Although what you had with him didn't last long; it was shortlived— he still lived on inside you, locked up in a tiny space in your beating heart, his memories fading in and out of you like stills of a black & white movie. 

You couldn't forget, no matter how hard you tried, how he was the sole reason you tried to smile, even when all you wanted to do was break down, because everyday, watching the war flame on, devouring good men, it took a toll on you. But you had put on a brave face; because you wanted to be there for him. 

"When the war ends, I'll put a ring to it."

That was what he'd said to you that night, when he lay his head on your lap; your feet sprawled out in front of you as you both had sneaked out of your camp when he had come to get you.

You both ran along the river; shielded by the thick canopy of trees, hand in hand, until you both couldn't run anymore and there you both were; at the most beautiful spot you had ever seen before.The riverbank glistened under the moonlight and the crickets were making a fuss. The calm, soothing sound of the river water was like a soothing ointment to your burns and the presence of this blue eyed boy gave you solace.

But that was a long time back now. 

And those days were over. 

Long gone—

And all that remained inside you was a lingering void; a pregnant sadness and a lasting melancholy. 

You missed him— the blue eyed boy you had met in France. 

And you wondered if he missed you too. 

But also, you hated him, hated him beyond understanding because you knew he didn't care for you the way you did. 

Because if he did, he would never have left you—

You sat by your window, back home, in Birmingham, your hand glaring down at the ring that adorned your ring finger. This was where he had said he'd put a ring on; once the war was over. 

And now it was over. 

But there was no Tommy; no ring on your finger that was given by him and no teenage romance anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

Another day of suffering—

Another morning when you felt like a walking and breathing corpse—

Another day you mourned the loss of men that died on a gurney right in front of your eyes—

You took off your blood stained uniform; sliding on a fresh one because you were asked to work for a few hours more today. There were too many casualties but not many nurses and staff to take care of them. The opium and the morphine was running low so you and your fellow nurses had to ration it down, keeping it reserved for patients who had _a chance to survive and go back to the battlefield again_. It was unfair, you knew it was, but you had no choice. So all you had done that morning was use a marker to draw a mark over the side of the neck for the men that you didn't think would survive. There was no point in wasting opium on them now, was it? It was so unfair— they like all the rest, deserved a fast, painless death, in case they had no chance of survival.

You had just finished stitching up a gash on a young lad's cheek; a boy who looked even younger than you were— _you were eighteen_. It pinched you in a corner of your heart as the boy reminded you so much of your two brothers; who you knew were out there, fighting, probably hanging on to the thread of life by a noose. Finally, your body reacted to the hours of sleepless hard work and you felt your eyes almost droop, your knees feeling like jelly underneath you. Tightening your grip against the box of cigarettes that rested in your mid section pocket, you stepped out for a minute and positioned yourself in a corner.

You lit the cigarette end, bringing it up to your lips to inhale the smoke from the fag; all the while thinking of how things were back home. Needless to say, you missed the tiny, populated streets of Birmingham, you missed the smoke coiled atmosphere and the rowdy men that swarmed the pubs. This country, although beautiful in its own way; having been destroyed by the war; was a stranger to you. 

You were so lost in your daze that you missed to notice two figures sneak towards the entrance under the dark. You only finally saw them when they were inches away from you. You saw a young man; not more than 21 maybe, his arm coiled around another man's neck, holding him for support. Both of them were bleeding. 

"Fucking hell," you muttered under your breath, your eyes finally meeting the young man's eyes for the first time as you almost tumbled towards them clumsily. 

"Are you a nurse? We need help." 

"How did this happen eh?" You ushered the two of them inside, making them sit down against the makeshift beds as you ran around to get your supplies; all the while feeling piercing eyes on you. 

"Stepped on a fucking trip mine. Burst on our faces," he informed, almost too _casually_ , his thick Brummie accent clear enough for you to identify that he was also from Birmingham.

Before you could open your mouth to reply, one of the nurses that worked with you rushed in, immediately stopping when her eyes fell on you and then the two casualties. Thankful, you motioned to her to help you so she hurriedly wiped her hands with a cloth, and grabbed her own medical tray, running over towards the younger man to tend to his wounds, while you made your way to the one that looked older. 

His face was caked with dried blood and it was hard for you to figure out where he was hurt so you gently started cleaning the blood off his face and that's when you realized that tiny fragments of shrapnel were lodged to his skin, especially on his neck. 

"I'm going to have to pull these out, this will hurt." You informed as gently as you could and you saw him nod from the corner of your eye,followed by a low snort in retaliation to your words, causing your eyebrows to shoot up. 

"Did I crack a joke?" 

He rolled his ice blue eyes, almost; shielded under the dried up blood that caked his face and his eyelids.

"The things we've fucking seen, and you think I'll wince when you pull out those bloody pieces of shrapnel." 

"It's my job to warn, I'm only doing it—" You paused then, waiting for this blue eyed stranger to tell you his name. 

"It's Thomas.. Thomas Shelby and that's my brother, John."

"Well, Mr. Shelby—" You said, dumping the blood soaked cotton swabs into your tray, your fingers moving to pick up the suture when he cut you off. 

"Tommy or Thomas will do alright. Mr. Shelby makes me feel bloody forty." 

His words made you smile. It was a pleasant respite; you didn't remember the last time you had smiled for something as miniscule a reason as this. You shook your head, almost choking on the giggle that was lodged at the back of your throat but you still pulled on a serious face, leaning forward slightly, closer to him, to stitch the gashes that were now visible on the side of his neck. 

Fifteen minutes was all it took for you to stitch this man up; who sat there in front of you, gritting his teeth, his knuckles almost white as he grabbed the headboard of the makeshift hospital bed, every time the suture pierced into his skin. 

You tried to make small talk with him, but the more you tried and the more hums you received from him, you realized one thing that this man was not a talker. So you fell quiet, letting the silence overtake you and to be honest, it didn't feel uncomfortable and rather very peaceful. 

"It's done, Thomas." You finally pulled your hands away and inspected his wounds for one last time before standing up, holding the tray in your hands. He stood up too, a tiny hint of a smile breaking out across his dry, chapped lips. 

"Thank you, Ms.—" 

Now it was your turn to introduce yourself. 

"(Y/N)(Y/L/N)." 

You didn't fail to note the sudden surprise that took over his face. 

"(L/N)?" 

"Is that a problem?" You mumbled, dumping the dirty cotton swabs into the trashcan, wiping your hands with a cloth, your back now turned towards him, your eyes falling momentarily on the other man that had accompanied Thomas, who looked a tad bit like his brother; having the exact same eyes, the calm oceanic irises and almost the same stout face structure— who was speaking to the your fellow nurse not far from where you and Tommy were. 

"There's just someone I know by that last name. Someone in the same regiment as me. Was wonderin' if you two were related by any chance." 

"What regiment do you belong to then, Thomas?" You asked, draping your arms around your body, rubbing the sides of your arms, eyeing him.

"The 8th Service Battalion, madam," he murmured, his voice thick and husky, but it wasn't his voice that made your eyes bob out of the sockets and widen, rather the words he had just said. He was quick to notice your reaction almost raising his brow inquisitively, before speaking in a low voice, "Jasper (Y/L/N), if you are wondering who." 

Suddenly, you felt as though someone had pulled the footing from underneath your leg. You almost tumbled forward, losing your balance and had you not held on to the cabinet in front of you for support, you would definitely have crashed to the floor in the most unladylike manner. It was strange; all in one night— meeting a young man from back home, Birmingham city and even stranger, meeting a young man who served in the same regiment as your younger brother. 

"He's my brother," you managed to whisper, almost inaudibly to which Thomas Shelby just nodded, drawing out a cigarette box from his pant pocket. 

"Is he okay?" Was all you could manage to ask after that. 

"He is. He's a good lad. Runs like the fuckin' wind."

A small smile broke out against your lips; widening in realization that you finally knew where he was, and you knew he was safe. Hurriedly, you unclasped the locket that hung from your neck and grabbed Tommy's hand, taking him by surprise. You placed the locket in his warm palm, locking his fingers against it.

"I know you'll see him again and when you do, please give him this, tell him to get back home in fucking one piece, will you? And maybe, you can bring him over the next time you decide to visit." You said, shooting him a warm smile as you saw him pocket the locket you just handed him. 

"Do you want me to visit you a next time?" He said smugly, and that's when you realized what you'd said; a slow blush creeping against your cheeks, turning your face into a ripe, red tomato. 

"I think you will, when you do require patching up again, Mr. Shelby—" 

"(Y/N), we need you, we have casualties—" One of the nurses stepped in, cutting you off, causing both your heads to sharply turn towards her. The atmosphere that was light and breezy had turned sour just by the information and you sighed, turning to Tommy. 

"Be careful, Mr. Shelby." 

He parted his lips, but before words could tumble out of his dry, chapped lips, he saw you turn around and walk off with the nurse, your steps hurried and urgent. Tommy smiled faintly to himself, running his palm through his hair. There was something about this girl, something that warmed him up. 

And he knew that he wanted to see you again.


	3. Chapter 2

It wasn't until weeks after that day you saw that blue eyed boy again.

It would have been a lie to say he didn't cross your mind once since then—

When you weren't treating casualties or you were curled in your bunker, your reading glasses plastered to your eyes and an old , tattered book that belonged to your elder brother rested against your thigh, you found yourself thinking of him, wondering if he was doing okay, if _he was alive_ —

A part of you felt guilty— you should have thought of your brothers, prayed for their safety, prayed for the war to get over so you could all go back home, but you couldn't stop yourself from wondering if Thomas Shelby had made it so far, since the last time you saw him. 

A few miles away, in a basement of an almost crumbling building, the soldiers of the 8th Service Battalion were trapped. The only exit was blocked by piles of rocks that had come crashing down when a trip mine had exploded, taking the life of a fellow comrade. Tommy stood by the stone wall, leaning against it, holding his body for support, a lit fag in his fingers, his lips belting out smoke as he exhaled. Right in front of his eyes, three of his comrades, which included his brother John, were digging with their bare hands, trying to burrow a hole into the ground so they could get into the other side and get out of this godforsaken place.

Tommy's fingernails were soaked with blood and dust, his nails almost broken for he had been the one trying to dig with his bare hands an hour back and had only taken a break to take a little rest. His observant eyes scanned through the men that were tumbling in and out of his vision, yelling amongst themselves, talking or trying to come up with a plan but his eyes were fixed on one person— Jasper. 

He looked just like you, his raven black hair was just the same shade as yours, only shorter. If you decided to one day chop off your locks, you'd pass as his twin. Tommy dumped the cigarette butt to the ground and at the same time, his hand flew to his neck, clasping his fingers against the locket that you had given him. It felt warm against his palm and he knew he should have given it back to the black haired boy in front of his eyes.

Maybe this was meant to be his lucky charm, a token of love from his sister, something that was meant to protect his life. Although he wanted to go and talk to the black haired boy, a part of him did not want to part with the memory he had of you— a part of you that was now clinging to his neck. 

Maybe it was his selfishness, or it was just his thoughts of you, the fact that you occupied a corner of his mind more than anyone these days, he bit on his lip hard and kept his mouth shut. He will talk to Jasper, but later — once they were out of this place. 

And they did. 

Only how—

It was almost twelve hours; the men were hungry, starving beyond their wits and the basement smelt of piss, sweat and blood. Finally, a yell rang through the lads' ears. A hole had finally been dug. They were free— they could go to the other side now. One by one, the men started crawling through the hole and their heads emerged on the other side of the basement, where bright moonlight shone though the glass windows, providing them with respite. There the door was, right in front of their eyes; all they had to do was get out and breathe the fresh air. Anything was better than the stale, bloody air in this place. 

Tommy was speaking to his brother when from the corner of his eye, he saw three boys, one of them (Y/N)'s brother. They walked up to the front door, placing their hand on the doorknob, they pulled it open when suddenly, there was a click. 

"DUCK!" Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs, as loud as he could, jumping to the ground, shielding himself underneath a table when a loud explosion happened and the screams of the three men in front of him drowned into his ears. His palm flew to the locket that dangled from his neck and a sudden guilt hit him. 

"Jasper, no! Fuck, fuck. No." Tommy slid out of his hiding spot, cowering slightly just in case there was any more explosion to happen, making his way through the furniture that was lit on fire around him. There, in front of his eyes, lay the young man, covered in blood and soot, coughing.

Tommy fell on his knees, sliding his hand underneath Jasper's head to lift it up as he could see that he was still breathing, although very faintly. 

"Jasper, hold on. We're going to get you to a bloody hospital, you know?" 

Breath by breath, Tommy could see life sliding out of the young boy's body and it hurt him. 

"Listen, mate, I met your sister, she's at the camp, she's a nurse, a fuckin' good nurse and she will —" 

"She has no - no one except m-me and Johnny—" Jasper's breathless voice cut him off, whispering, his voice cracking, his chest heaving up and down. 

"Come on, don't you fucking die on me here. I promised her I'll take you to the camp the next time I need fuckin' stitches."

Tommy placed his hands on the young boy's chest, pumping his heart, trying to get him to open his eyes.

"Tommy—" John's voice called out to him but he ignored him.

"Tommy" This time John's voice was loud, causing Tommy to sharply turn his neck towards him. Underneath the layers of blood and soot covering his face, he could see the sadness in John's eyes. "He's gone, Tommy. He's dead." John whispered, his voice barely a whisper.

The darkness surrounded you, but it wasn't peaceful; you could hear the sounds of occasional grenades and trip Mines somewhere at a distance and you could sometimes hear a cry of pain. You had to force yourself to clench your eyes shut and press the pillow tight against your ears to block out any sound. You wondered if life could get any worse than what it already was—

Letting out a frustrated groan, you sat up in bed, rubbing your tired, sleep deprived eyes as you snaked out of bed, your feet touching the floor. Without making any noise, you sneaked out of the bunker, not wanting to wake up anyone inside as you walked out. You looked up at the sky, the moon was shining bright — it was a beautiful full moon; a lovely starry night, but it was ironical how no one could see beauty in it. All we could see was blood, death and cries of pain. 

Your arms wrapped around your body instinctively as a chilly breeze hit you, causing a shiver run down your spine. It was then when you heard the sound of the crunching of leaves somewhere across you, causing you to sharply look forward, until the familiar silhouette of the blue eyed boy came in your view. 

"Tommy!" You exclaimed, your voice expressing a sudden joy you didn't know you could even feel. 

You didn't know why; what connection you had with him but it felt like someone you'd known for ages had finally come back back to you. You ran in his direction, wanting to embrace him. 

"You're back! You—" Words stopped from your mouth when you saw him up close. He wasn't happy. His face looked worse than how you'd seen him the last time— yes, physically too but more so, emotionally. You could see a scar in his eyes; you knew something had happened. His eyes were sunken, hollow, his face devoid of any emotion. 

"Tommy—" You whispered his name, your words dripping with pain; it was strange to say that you felt it, genuinely, whatever it was that was bothering him. There was a connection and you could feel a pain building inside you as well, looking at him— _so distraught._

"Say it," you pleaded with him.You knew he knew that you were in no mood to play games; that you knew that something had happened and you weren't the type of a girl to beat around the bush. 

Your eyes moved along with Tommy's hand as he slid it into his pant pocket and pulled something out. Within the next second, you felt his fingers brush against your hand, his hand finally taking a hold of your hand and turning it so your palm was wide open. He then placed something cold against it and you looked down, the silver glistening against your now tear clouded eyes. 

Your locket—

You bit your lip. 

He was dead, of course he was. 

You didn't cry or break down. You looked up at the sky and your lips curled into a weak smile. He was finally free; free of the torture, of watching countless people die and he had died a martyr. You were proud, needless to say. But your heart felt heavy. It didn't matter if he'd died a martyr's death, what mattered was that he was gone— your baby brother was gone and he was never coming back.The next minute you knew, you were on your knees, your face buried against Tommy's chest, his arm holding you gently as he let you whimper against his chest, his hand stroking the back of your head. 

"I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry. It should've been me maybe. I didn't give him the locket, I thought—" 

You kept listening, all the while you had your face buried in his chest, a stabbing pain rising in your chest.

"I wanted to keep it for myself. I should've given it to him." 

It didn't matter anymore. He was dead.

You don't remember how long you cried for—

It was probably minutes—

But once you were done, you wiped any traces of tears left in your eyes and put on a brave face. You were still sitting on the ground but Tommy was now standing, wondering, if there was anything he could say to you; to comfort you. 

You didn't need it—

No amount of words can comfort you, and he knew it. 

So he slid his hands into his pocket and turned away, slowly walking away from you. 

"Tommy, wait." You weakly called out, and he froze, not turning towards you. You stood up and with slow, dragged steps, you walked up to him and placed your hand on his shoulder, nudging him to turn towards you and face you. He had to fucking face you, you deserved that much. "Look at me, for fucks sake." You hissed, your voice harsh, his body immediately stiffening in response to it. But he did what you asked him to do. Slowly, he turned around and your eyes met his icy blue ones. 

He had expected you to slap him, scream at him and curse him but he had least expected you to do what you did then. You swallowed the bile forming in your throat and brought up the locket to his neck, clasping it around, letting it hang from it. 

"Although it didn't protect him, I always hope it protects you." 

You took a step away from him but this time, he caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him. 

"Y-you don't hate me?" His voice was filled with anguish. 

"It wasn't your fault. Maybe this was how it was meant to be. If there's anyone to blame, it's me. Instead of praying for them to be safe, I hoped and wondered if you were okay—" You softly whispered, looking down at the floor.

Tommy left the wrist he was holding reluctantly and this time, you gave him a weak smile and turned away. Watching you leave tore through his heart but your words providing his aching heart with a medicine, your words which he'd heard, the fact that you had thought of him, the fact that you'd wanted him to be safe. The fact that you cared for him. You wanted to be alone; to grieve. So he let you be. But he kept standing there, watching you with awe in his eyes. He wondered what he'd done good in life, to meet a woman as pure as you were. And now, a sudden selfish desire filled him up completely.

He wanted you. He _needed_ you now. And he had to have you.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild smut warning.

You were still grieving, so Tommy made it a ritual to try to visit you once a week, when he could, to spend time with you. Sometimes he bought you flowers— your favourites, yellow tulips; sometimes he bought you pastries and chocolates & sometimes he just came empty handed but you really didn't mind. All you were thankful for, was his company. 

But each time he visited you, your heart sank. Each time, he had a new injury, sometimes a gash over an eyebrow, sometimes, you could see that his shoulder was slightly hunched, limp so you would fix it for him.

Your lungs felt like they were about to explode, like they were on fire. 

Your palm felt sweaty, and Tommy's skin felt warm against it. 

"Stop, Tommy, I can't fucking run anymore—" You panted, finally stopping underneath a large oak tree over the hilltop. Tommy finally let go off your hand and you leant back against the bark of the tree, resting your head against it as you tried to calm your racing heart and steady your breath. 

"Come on, it wasn't even a mile," Tommy chuckled, a playful grin plastered to his face. You just scowled at him, wanting to swat it away but he dodged your hand and moved away.

"We could have just walked, what was the whole point of running all the way up?" You shook your head. 

"You would have missed the sunrise then, love." 

Tommy slowly turned you, fixing himself behind you and then you saw it— the most beautiful thing you had ever laid your eyes on.

The pale sunlight slowly bloomed over the horizon, the bright yellow ball of fire slowly rising, colours of orange and pink exploding in your eyes. It was magical— _beautiful_. You fell back against Tommy, who locked his hands around your front to hold you, the back of your head resting against his chest, a weak sigh escaped your lips, "this is beautiful." He hummed in response to your words, his chin now resting against your shoulder. 

Another chance to live.  
The start of a brand new day—  
_With Tommy—_

"You think this is beautiful, love? I think its got nothing on you."

In that moment, you were thankful for the fact that it wasn't morning yet, and the sunlight was bleak and it didn't illuminate your face. Had it done so, Tommy would have noticed your face turn two shades redder, just like a ripe, red tomato. 

"Stop with the flattering, Mr. Shelby, no one's ever said that to me before. I really doubt it." You rolled your eyes, resting backwards against his hard chest. 

"They're crazy if they bloody didn't." He suddenly grabbed your hand, entwining your fingers against his; you could feel his rough, matted skin; one of the lasting byproducts of war; as he tugged at you and pulled you to the tree. You both sat down underneath it, you snuggled against his front, sitting between his legs, your faces still cocked towards the sun that had slowly begin to rise. 

"The Sun's almost up, Mr. Shelby, does it mean you have to leave now?" You absentmindedly asked him. Maybe he was even more absentminded than you were because you noticed that he did not reply. When you snapped your neck towards him, you saw that he was looking at your hand, that was still in his hand. 

"What are you thinking?" 

"Hm, what?" He looked up at you, and then gave you a smile, "It's nothing, love." 

"Liar." 

"I'm not." 

"I don't believe you."

"You're very irritating," Tommy commented, leaning forward, placing his hand on your hair, slowly, yet _reluctantly_ moving your hair away from your shoulder. You shuddered at his touch, his fingers felt strange against your bare skin around your neck, but you liked it. "Fine, I was just thinking."

"Spill it." 

The hand that was on your neck moved away, and a tiny whelp escaped your lips, almost involuntarily, causing you to almost bite down on your tongue, hoping Tommy hadn't heard it. But of course he'd had, and he was smirking. 

"I was thinking, well, your beautiful hand looks empty, like something's missing." 

Although you were starting to follow his subtle hints, but you didn't want to imagine things and later, find out that you had just been imagining it. So you didn't reply. 

"I was thinking, _once the war ends, I'll put a ring to it_ —" 

"Tommy—" You breathed, your heart thumping wildly against your chest. 

"But till then, I wanna know you're mine." 

He leaned forward, slightly, breaking a blade of grass, toying with it slightly before he took your hand and tied the blade of grass to your ring finger. 

"You do realize you're an idiot, aren't you?" You chastised him, instantly feeling him stiffen so you immediately spoke again, giving him a soft smile, your hand moving up, your fingers running inadvertently through your hair, "Idiot because you've not kissed me yet. And yet you call me yours."

That was the day you experienced it all — your first kiss, your first everything. 

You didn't get a chance to speak any further for in the next few minutes, Tommy had pushed you to the ground, his body spread over yours, propped up on his side as he softly kissed your lips. It was a warm feeling and that was when you experienced this weird, alien feelings, and now you knew what it felt like — feeling butterflies inside you. His lips were soft, unlike his hands and his kiss was slow, gentle yet every ounce of it screamed passion. 

It didn't take much time for the kiss to turn into something much more — much more raw, much more animalistic. A new, sudden desire erupted inside you and you seemed to love feeling like this. Tommy's hands were now moving all over your body, brushing against your breasts, sometimes cupping the bulge of them and sometimes, wandering lower than that, his finger trailing against the fabric of your dress over your stomach. 

"I'll stop if you want me to, love." 

The thing was, you didn't want him to stop. You wanted to feel how it felt like being with a man, not just _any_ man, but rather, the man that you were in love with with, completely. 

"I don't want you to stop, Tommy." 

Your voice was a whisper, and you shuddered underneath his touch. 

"Touch me, Tommy," you whispered, and your words sent him into another world altogether, where there was no war, no blood and just him and you. He pressed his lips to you once more, but this time, he was rough, more passionate, biting and tugging at your lips, his tongue in your mouth, dancing with your tongue.

This time when you pulled back, licking your lips to relish his taste still lingering on you; he had no smile on his face, just a hot, burning gaze in his eyes which you knew was going to end in something beautiful, between the two of you. 

He leaned forward, his lips pressed to your ear, as he whispered your name in his thick, Brummie accent. 

Your bodies touched, his hands feeling you all over and you curled my fingers into his tousled hair, a sudden ecstacy filling you, while your bodies moved in sync with each other, your moans filling up the air. 

It was you and Tommy, alone, on top of that hill that early morning—

_That morning, all alone under the pale sunlight, the chirping of the birds and the cool early morning air, dew sitting fresh on the leaves of the tree; you and Tommy rode each other's high until your passions finally exploded._

But now, it felt like nothing but a distant memory. Something that happened a long time back. Things had changed a lot since then. The world had changed; and so had the people. Somewhere, down the lane, the boy you'd loved had changed too, he'd become a man, and you'd grown up. However, what hadn't changed was the feelings you had for him, the love you felt for him and the way you missed his thick voice, his cocky jokes and his hypnotizing blue eyes. You had the box, a small wooden box, hidden safely in your closet, buried under piles of clothes and inside the wooden box was the withered blade of the grass, the one that Tommy had marked you with— as his. Although you both had moved on, in your respectable lives, he was now a feared gangster and a politician, a famous man, and you were just you, a married woman now, both of you had a piece of each other with each other, to remind you of him, and him of you. 

A blade of grass and a little set of icy blue eyes just like him—

And, a silver locket, the one that Tommy used to hang his pocketwatch with.


	5. Chapter 4

You stood in the tiny kitchen of your tiny apartment in Small Heath, Birmingham. 

War was long over, but the wounds still felt fresh—

You put the kettle on boil, pulling out an empty tea cup and laying it on the counter. You were twenty five now, already in line to twenty six and a complete, utter mess. Your hair had lost the lusciousness, your eyes looked swollen, droopy and lethargic and you had bags under your eyes. This was mostly because you suffered from nightmares, at times, so crippling, you couldn't sleep at night, and spent your night locked up in another room, sniffling soundlessly. 

What was different was that now you had grown up, or you thought you did. Years of war did that to most people. You were married to the man you had once treated, a man who had lost his leg in the war— a soldier. He was a nice man, he had taken you, accepted you when everyone had shunned you out, even Johnny, your elder brother. And of course the evil _society_. But you didn't blame them, you blamed yourself. 

Everything that had happened, it had happened because you had let it happen— you had let Tommy Shelby in, when you should have locked him out. 

But years after you had lost contact with the boy who was your first love, you still remembered him, you still _missed_ him, and often found yourself thinking of him.

It wasn't as though you hadn't tried, you had tried, many times, even after that day he never joined you back, on that train, back home from France. 

_It was a grey morning, the war was finally over but there was no celebration. You looked around yourself, your eyes moving from one man to another, all over the swarmed station. Soldiers, men who had fought and survived, scars on their faces, pain in their eyes, their bags hung on their shoulders. Most of them spoke to each other in low voices, and their heads were almost hung low. You noted that none of them were genuinely happy._

_It was like the war had taken something from them— a a part of them._

_You then looked at Johnny, but the man didn't look at you. He hated you, of course he did._

_It was because of you, he was reduced to nothing but a walking, living joke. A man who's sister was a fucking whore._

_Damaged goods—_

_"Are you gonna bloody get in or not?" Your brother's cold voice chastised you, causing you to flinch at the harshness in his words. How had one mistake — of falling in love with a boy — made your own brother a complete stranger to you? Why did this happen to you? Why did you even let yourself fall in love ?_

_The questions tortured you, tormented you and forcing yourself to blink your tears away, you nodded solemnly in your brother's direction and instantly pulled your hat over your head. You had to reach out and grab the bar and then pull yourself into the train, that was about to leave any minute._

_But still, you knew he would come. Of course, he would._

_He loved you—_

_As much as you loved him —_

_So you bit your lip hard, and turned around, staring at the crowd swarming the train, men getting in. You couldn't see him anywhere, no matter how hard you trained your eyes._

_The sound of the engine pulled you back out of your reverie and you felt your brother almost grab you by your shoulder but you didn't move. You feet were stuck to the ground._

_"Jesus, fuck, I'm coming, Johnny."_

_"He won't come." Was all your brother said, before he pushed past you, into the train bogey. When you thought he was right and almost decided to turn away, that's when you saw him._

_He was just a head in the crowd, his two brothers walking on either side of him. His hair were disheveled and he had a lit cigarette in his fingers, a bag hung over his shoulders. You raised your hand, instinctively and waved at him. You wanted him to join you, in your compartment. Johnny would finally stop chastising you, once he had met Tommy, and Tommy him. You didn't know why, but Tommy hadn't been there to see you for almost two months, that was the longest he had been away from you, without seeing you, all the while you two were together. And you had no idea why. Tommy's eyes met yours; briefly, and a warm smile crept over your lips._

_Only, he pulled his gaze away, stepping into the train, into the other compartment, completely ignoring you, shunning you out of his life, just like that._

Even though he betrayed you that day, you still tried. Even after you all were back in Birmingham. 

A few months after you were back, you tried again, after all, he deserved to know the truth. He deserved to know what he didn't know. And, most of all, she needed him. So, you'd wrapped your shawl tighter over your body, and made your way to a pub called Garrison, to look for the man you thought you knew. But that's when you saw him, with a blonde haired barmaid, and your heart broke into pieces. 

That was the last you tried, and you finally let go. 

That wasn't the last of your troubles. This was because you were a center of gossips, of jokes and of abuses. And your brother could take no more of it, so he kicked you out. And you were on the streets, with no one to turn to. 

Days turned to weeks and you found shelter at an old orphanage. 

It was only days later you found a companion from the war working in that orphanage— the man that you had treated during war, the man who would soon be your husband. He took you in, when you had no one to go to, no one to turn to. You got married. It was a tiny affair, with just a handful of people and moved to his tiny house in Small Heath, a few houses away from the Garrison used to be, before it was blown to shreds and Tommy moved to the Arrowe House, with his wife and son, Charlie Shelby.

And it was a miracle, how you managed to hide from Thomas Shelby's eyes, and not come face to face with him for five long years until _then_.

Smoke coiled around him, his eyes trained on a man as he walked out of one of the dark, alleys, a briefcase in his hand. Tommy exhaled the smoke from his cigarette and let the butt drop to the floor, immediately stepping on it before he slowly started walking towards the man, following him. The man was one of the spies that had been sent by a rival gang to spy on him, on his work. 

Minutes after having followed the man down the street, Tommy realized that he had been dragged into a fruit market and now the man was nowhere in sight. His fingers clenched into a fist and anger coursed through his vein— raw, distilled anger. He reached out with his hand, grabbing a juicy looking apple from one of the racks in front of him and dig into it, his eyes scanning the crowds. 

Everyone in this city knew who he was, and no one uttered a word, when he was around — not when razorblades were strewn into his cap.

Thomas Shelby felt stupid, which was a rare thing, stupid that he had lost such an important man, in such a stupid way. He was so mad at himself, although his expressions were stoic and icy, he wanted nothing more than to leave this horrendous place, and lock himself in his study, drowning himself in work. Ever since he lost Grace, things didn't feel the same. It felt like he was was floating through thin air, making ends meet, trying to bring up his son all by himself, but somehow failing at it. 

He was about to turn away, when a tiny laugh caught perked his ears up. 

Slowly, he turned towards the source of the voice and his eyes caught a glimpse of a beautiful black haired girl, not more than five. She was standing with a basket in her clutch, a basket that was stuffed with bread, biscuits and oranges.

It suddenly fascinated him, causing him to look around and see, if he could either find her father or her mother, but she seemed alone. It surprised him, how a girl of not more than five was all alone, in a fruit market, getting a basket filled. He wondered how a girl of not more than five was much more in control of what her life was, than a grown man like him. So, with slow, reluctant steps, he walked up to her. The woman who was speaking to her the fruit seller; she saw him approach and immediately stopped talking, her eyes widening as she realized who he was but the tiny, oblivious girl kept on blabbering. 

"Miss Luis, I would also like some fresh cantaloupes." The little girl said, her accent brummie, although her words were a bit jumbled and broken.

"Aren't you too young to be fetching groceries? All alone?" Tommy fixed himself next to her. 

The tiny girl looked up at him, her blue orbs widening slightly when she heard a male voice speak. She shuffled the weight of her body from one foot to another, her hand flying to her hair. She gave Tommy a smile, and Tommy noted that two of her teeth were missing, so he let himself smile for a bit.

"But mummy sends me here every week," she mumbled, her voice barely audible, but only, Tommy wasn't listening. He was captivated— pulled back into the sands of time, back to France, back under the oak tree, where he used to lay in (Y/N)'s arms. This little girl, although five, her eyes nothing like (Y/N)'s (Y/E/C) eyes, reminded him of her. Maybe it was the hair, her curly black hair, the same colour as that of hers, and the nose. 

He shook his thoughts away, when he saw the girl run off, her tiny basket in her arm, skipping slightly, as she starred walking away. 

Little children and their tiny attention span. Tommy couldn't even keep his own son engaged in a conversation for more than two minutes, but this was just a stranger child.

"Who was she?" Tommy turned towards the fruit seller, who looked a little nervous.

"Her name's Sophie, lives a few houses away, Mr. Shelby." 

Nodding, almost lightly, Tommy slid his hands into his pant pockets and slowly made his way out of the fruit market.

As he walked down the street, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. He had lost his wife, the woman he thought he loved, much more recently than things had ended between him and you in France, and yet, even all those years, almost six, you still came to his mind, at the oddest of times, your image reflecting in the strangest of people. 

As he made his way towards his motorcar, that was parked outside one of the buildings not far from there, he couldn't stop thinking of the betrayal, the way you had broken his heart. And after all these years, he still hadn't collected all the broken pieces. 

As he got into the car, his hands resting against the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the road, his mind was racing. He was wondering what was worse, the horrors of the war, the torture he'd seen, felt or the heartbreak he had experienced. 

It was as though it was only yesterday when he had run up to your camp, to spend some time with you before he was sent off to another location, that he saw you with a man, sitting in a corner, hugging, your arms wrapped around his neck. He could not erase the look he saw on your face, the look of content, of pure love and happiness. 

So, he'd left. 

Feeling betrayed, and cheated on.

Little did he know, how wrong he had been, and had he given you a chance to explain what he had seen that night, things would have been different. Had he given you a chance to explain, you would have told him, that you loved no one but him and the man that he had seen you with was your brother Johnny.


	6. Chapter 5

_In the bleak midwinter, when everything was dark and decaying, you had one hope. A tiny ray of light; in the form of her shrill cries—_

_You named her Sophie._

_All that pain, all those endless hours of screaming, cursing and writhing in pain, she had finally made an appearance at 4 am on an early winter morning in Birmingham, her tiny black hair mopped over her small, round head. She was beautiful, her tiny hand, it could fit in your wedding band._

_She had her father's blue eyes, and maybe, she would have Tommy's cheekbones when she grew up._

_How you loved those cheekbones—_

_As you nursed your newborn to sleep, you felt a pang in your chest, and a sudden breathlessness; your heart aching for him. If only, he was here right now. If only, he could hold her, press her to his chest, and promise he will watch over her for the rest of his life, devoting himself to the daughter he shared with you._

Now, six years later, the pain wasn't as severe as it was before. 

Time heals all wounds—

No, it doesn't heal them, you just get so immune to the pain, you stop feeling it anymore. It's as though it becomes a part of you—

If there was one thing you could not have, the love of the man you wanted, you had found companionship; friendship in form of Theodore Wilkinson, your husband. Your daughter, your precious angel, your little Sophie né Shelby, had a loving, nurturing father and you were happy. 

But you couldn't stop her from growing up, could you? 

You wished sometimes, that she was still a babe, curled at your chest, nestled away from all the harsh realities of this world, unaware, in a bliss. But then, she was growing up. 

She was six today—

Although you couldn't afford to throw her a lavish birthday party, with all the money restrictions, the rent you had to pay, taking care of your husband, who was slowly dying, succumbing finally, to the infection that his leg had caught back in France, you did still do what little you could to make her day. Three of her friends had just left, their tummies full, remnants of the delicious chocolate lavendar cake you had baked still on the corners of their lips.

You stood by the door to your parlor, your eyes trained on your daughter who was sprawled over the carpeted floor, unwrapping what little presents she had, while her father sat in his wheelchair, not far from her, an excited, happy look on his face, causing you to smile as well. On days like this, you felt blessed, you felt thankful, that your daughter had gotten the love of both, a father and a mother. No child should be deprived of that. 

Your husband's eyes caught you and you saw him bend slightly, whispering something into Sophie's ears as he slowly wheeled his way towards where you were standing. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asked you. 

"She's growing up so fast, Theodore, I just—" You grumbled, both your eyes trained on her as she was still unwrapping one of the boxes, "—I wish time would slow down. It's like her childhood is slipping away and I'm losing you to —" You bit back on your tongue, to refrain yourself from saying it out loud, but it was too late, he had already caught you. 

"T's okay love, you can say it. I'm dying. But there's nothing to be sad in that, is there? You gave me a new life in France, if it wasn't for you, I would have died back then, wouldn't have had the fuckin' chance to father such a lovely child." 

"Theo—" You whispered, placing both your hands on his shoulders as you towered over him, giving them a slight squeeze.

This man had been nothing but kind to you. You wished you could love him the way you loved the man who didn't look back, left you and your daughter but you couldn't. No matter how hard you tried, there is a thing about love—the heart had a mind of its own; it wanted what it wanted, no matter how hard you tried to confuse it. Theo had always known that you didn't love him, not the way a wife should love his husband but he was okay with it. He knew that someone had broken your heart, so bad, you had stopped living, you just existed and he had often tried to ask you who he was, but you had never told him. 

It surprised you today, when out of the blue, on your daughter's sixth birthday, he asked you the question you didn't want to answer. 

"Would you deny a dying man a last wish?" 

"You are not dying Theo—" 

"Who was he, love? The man that broke your heart? Who's her father?" He pointed towards Sophie with his eyes. 

"You are." 

"Biological father, love." He said, a little sternly. 

You sighed, your fingers toying aimlessly with each other. You had tried to stir him away from this for six years, but you didn't think you could lie any longer. And he was right, not when he was inching closer to death everyday. You could already see his bones, he hardly could keep food inside, you often had to keep him on a liquid diet. 

So you decided, that tonight in bed, you would tell him everything because he deserved to know. And when you did, needless to say, he was shocked.

"Thomas Shelby? Thomas Fucking Shelby? That bloody gangster that threatens men with those fookin' razor blades?" Your husband had a priceless look on his face; as though he had mined out diamonds and was about to get rich. 

"You talk about him like he's some fuckin' God." 

He is, to almost all of Birmingham, you see there's only a thin line between God and the devil, the devil is, after all, a fallen angel—" He groaned as he tried to get comfortable in bed but could not do so, his sore body making him almost curse in pain.

You couldn't help roll your eyes at him, shrug your shoulders and lay down on your back, closing your eyes, as you mumbled, "Go to bed, Theo, I have to be at the clinic early in the morning." You worked at a tiny clinic on the other side of the town; a clinic for the lower middle class, those who couldn't afford going to expensive doctors. But he paid you enough to keep your house over the head.

\- 

The next morning, you had woken up early and headed to the clinic and much to your dismay, there had been a blast at a factory nearby, which meant you had to extend your shift by a few hours as the casualty number was starkly high. It was almost ten at night and you had been working non stop for almost fourteen hours. Your body felt like it had been run over by a motorcar, your shoulders were tense and you had a spurting headache that caused you to groan in annoyance at any sound that you came across, while walking back home. 

Little did you know that you were soon going to forget all this—

Your house was eerily quiet, and usually you could hear the sound of your daughter's words even when you had not started climbing up the stairs to your front door. But of course, it was late at night and it wouldn't be a surprise if your husband had somehow managed to tuck her in. 

You unlocked the door with a sigh, stepping in and immediately sliding out of your shoes. The living room was dark, but you could see that the lights in Sophie's bedroom were switched on. Taking off your overcoat, you placed it on the hanger, noting an unfamiliar overcoat hanging on it. _Who was visiting your house at 10 at night?_

"Sophie, baby?" Your voice was trembling slightly, ringing through the hallway as you aimlessly called out; although you didn't know why.

That's when you heard the floorboard creak, just lightly; and you knew you weren't alone.

The first thing you did was lunge at a vase nearby, curling your fingers tight around it ; switching on the light.

A sudden panic took over you and you turned towards the intruder. 

"It's me, put the fucking vase down." 

Just like his words, the case slipped from your fingers, crashing against the floor as the horror sunk in. Oh, how you had imagined this night to be; the countless times you had rehearsed in your mind, what you were going to say to him, but right now, all you could manage to do was let out the breath you didn't even realise you were holding in.

It was as though you were standing face to face with your past—

After all these fucking years, he looked just the same; just a tad bit older perhaps & the way his hair was styled was so different now—

The relief of seeing him again, however, was short-lived, and what followed it was a fear, a mother's instinct. 

"Sophie. Where is she? Where is she?" You screamed out loud, hot tears sliding out of your eyes. 

"Love, stop, she's inside —" 

"How the fuck did you even find us? What the fuck are you doing in my fucking house?" 

You were going mad; you were going crazy. You could feel your body shake like a leaf. Tommy tried to hold you by your shoulders to stop you from shaking but you pushed his hands away, taking a step away. 

"Sophie?" You turned back around; running towards your daughter's bedroom. Pushing the door open, you stepped in, only to find her asleep in bed, her teddy bear tucked into her arm. You slid down on the floor, next to the bed, running your fingers through her hair and slowly, she fluttered her eyes open, probably having been woken up from sleep, "Mummy?" 

"Baby, mummy's here, you don't have to be afraid. Where's your daddy?" 

She shifted in bed, bringing her teddy up to her chest, "Which daddy mummy? The old one or the new one?" 

"What do you mean? Of course, you've got one daddy, baby."

There was a sudden silence in the room. It didn't make sense; there sat your daughter's real father, in the living room of your house. And here, your daughter's words didn't make any sense. 

"Daddy said that he is my new daddy, I haven't seen him since then," your daughter's sleepy voice reached you. 

"When did this happen, baby?" 

"When daddy took me to meet my new daddy. Now will you come to bed with me?" 

It all made sense now. 

"Go to sleep, baby. Mummy will join you in a minute. Mummy wants to speak to your daddy."

Her _real_ daddy. 

You were about to stand up, when her sleepy, broken words reached your ears, "Is my new daddy still here? I want him mummy." 

You sighed, barely audible as you tucked her into her blanket, kissing her forehead before you made your way out, closing the door slowly without slamming in. Your shoes flapped against the wooden floorboards as you stormed your way into your bedroom, only to find an empty bed, the place where Theodore used to rest. You didn't understand.

Your nostrils flared; your eyes burnt in hatred. That man had probably done something, of course, he was Thomas Fucking Shelby, capable of anything. 

You stepped into the hallway, screaming his name until you were once again standing face to face. 

Today, you were going to confront him, this was the day you had been waiting for, but you sure had hoped it would be in better circumstances—

"Where the fuck is my husband?" 

"Sit down." 

"Thomas, just tell me what did you do to him? Did you kill him? Did you fucking kill him because you couldn't stand —" 

"FOR FUCKS SAKE, WILL YOU BLOODY SIT DOWN?"

He cut you off, screaming back at you, just as loudly as you were screaming, your chest heaving up and down. Finally, you dropped down on the edge of the couch, as though you were nothing but a lifeless corpse. You looked at him, your eyes clouded with mist; hatred in your eyes. 

"You shouldn't have come back, I was so happy without you." 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Tommy sit down on a couch opposite to you, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he pushed them apart, arching his body forward, his cold, conniving eyes scrutinizing you. His fingers shuffled through his breast pocket to pull out a box of cigarettes and a stick, pinning it to his lips. As you saw him light a match, his face glowing orange under the light from the tiny source of fire, you could see the haunting in his eyes, the questions buried deep within his soul. 

"Why didn't you fucking tell me?" 

You sat back, your back brushing against the backrest as you eyed him, a bitter smile creeping against the corner of your lips. 

"What good would have come from telling you anyway? You were busy with that blonde bartender of yours, what was her name? Ah, yes, Grace." 

Tommy's hand clenched into a fist at the mention of her name, his knuckles almost cracking and a warning look crossed his eyes. 

"Don't drag her into this mess you've fucking created." 

"Where is my husband?" Your immediate question followed; your body a little relaxed now. If he wanted to have a discussion like adults, you were going to give him one.

"Your _husband_ —" You stiffened, sensing the bitterness in his throat; the way the words rolled out of his lips, venomous, _ugly_. You could sense the danger lurking within the walls of his emotionless eyes, a danger you wanted to shield your daughter from. 

"I freed him." 

You stood up, towering over him, blinking; confused. 

"What?" 

You watched as the man you once _loved_ bring the cigarette up to his lips, smoke belting out of his mouth, coiling around him like a snake.

"Guess I had a visitor, an unexpected one, for that matter. At first, I didn't believe what he told me; that he was your fucking husband." 

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY HUSBAND?" 

I just handed him the gun—"

You could listen no more. Your throat contracted, a sudden feeling of someone choking and twisting your insides took over you, and you doubled up, pressing your palm to your lips, a wave of nausea hitting you. 

He killed your husband. 

"Why?" You whispered; your tears falling freely off your eyes. 

"He begged me for release." 

You knew he wasn't lying, the man that was dead inside him, the boy you knew, did not lie to you. Not when he was looking you straight in the eye. Your memories flew back to the day he had confessed to not having given Jasper the locket that was intended to be his goodluck charm, which was now dangling from his waistcoat. 

"You couldn't live without taking another one's life, did you? You couldn't fucking keep your hands off my husband, you fucking did it again." 

Tommy stood up, letting the butt of the cigarette drop to your floor and he stomped on it, his hands flying to his waist. He took a step forward, towering over you, his mind struggling to keep in control the rage that was building inside him. 

"I did what he asked me to. It's a soldier's thing, you won't bloody understand." 

"Are you religious, Thomas?" You stood up abruptly, ignoring how close you were standing from him, your chest almost parallel to his. 

"Never was." 

"Then stop trying to be a fucking God." 

You felt numb, your thoughts scattered, your heart wailing in agony. You turned away from him, you couldn't look him in the eye. He was a murderer. Even if it was your husband who had wanted it. 

You knew it, with every bit of your heart, how Theodore hated being like this; in pain, like a heavy burden on your shoulders, but he shouldn't have done it. The realisation hit you, how he had asked you who Sophie's father was and maybe, just maybe you had lied, maybe it wouldn't have happened. 

"Is she mine?" That cold voice was at it again, clawing through your mind like a shovel. 

After all that you had been through, he thought she wasn't his. 

"Why are you here if she isn't yours?" 

He didn't answer. 

"Get the fuck out of my house, out of my life, back from the fucking hole you crawled out from and out of my daughter's life. You've murdered my husband, I wouldn't let you touch a hair on my baby's head." 

Something shattered around you; a beautiful vase, scattering to pieces around you as Thomas took us anger out on it, smashing it to the wall. Without saying anything, you watched as he turned around, taking his coat off the coat hanger. 

"If she's my girl, there's no one that can stop me from seeing her, ay?" 

With one last warning, your front door slammed shut and you were engulfed in a sudden emptiness, in a big empty house— a widow, with a daughter to raise.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Character Alert in this chapter.

Thomas Shelby was a man true to his words and his warnings.

You found him lurking at your doorsteps countless number of times after that— 

At first, you protested; you screamed at him, lashed out and asked him to leave. And every time you did, he came back the next day like a snarky little pest. 

Although he didn't for once made you feel like he would hurt you, or your daughter, but a small part of you felt afraid, afraid he will do something dreadful if you kept on shunning him away. You feared for your daughter, although you knew he wouldn't touch a hair on your head, you were afraid if anything was to happen to you, what would become of her. Also, you couldn't fail to notice the sparkle in her eyes when she asked you if her new daddy had come to visit her, almost everyday. There were days she asked you about Theodore, but you told him he was in heaven now. The topic always ended with her asking you if Thomas was going to visit and you had to lie each day that he hadn't come yet. 

So finally, one day, you had melted in your resolve and finally let him in, into your house but not into your heart. 

No, you weren't going to do that—

Thomas often visited your home on Sundays, and stayed to have dinner with you and his daughter. You were quiet, but deep inside, you felt a warmth when you saw the father daughter duo talk on about all the topics in the world; ranging from ice creams to the deadliest animals alive. Tommy was a good father, atleast he was good with your girl. 

Things between you and Thomas were the same. There was a cold layer of ice; blocking the both of you from stepping close to each other's proximity but you wanted it to be that way. Neither of you spoke unless it was absolutely required and there was no other option.

Wintry trees stood along the side of the road and the cold winter wind was blowing through, making you desperately struggle to keep your hair in place. You held your daughter's hand, her fingers locked with yours as you walked towards the clinic. Now, with Theodore dead, there was no one to watch over her. Although Thomas had wanted you to keep a nanny, you didn't want it. You couldn't trust the people he trusted; and you couldn't trust him, so he hadn't pushed you. He knew that you would break eventually, just like you had, to letting him meet his daughter and be in her life. But little did he know that your walls will finally break when something as drastic as this happened— 

"Is daddy coming over for dinner tomorrow?" Your daughter had the usual question up her lips; you smiled and looked down at her through your round frames. You realized you had grown older, atleast physically although you were only in your mid twenties; rendering your eyesight weak. 

"It's Sunday, ain't it love? Unless he's busy, he's going to be there." You informed, tugging at her hand slightly so she could walk a little faster as your mind was half at the clinic, wondering if the patients were coming in already; and whether the doctor was waiting for you. 

The road was almost empty, with just a few passersby on the road, young mothers mostly, scurrying away as fast as they could because the winter chill was dense and they were worried their children would catch a cold. A man stood in a corner, by a tree, resting his back against its silvery bark. His car was parked not much distance away. And he looked harmful enough. A woman, her swollen belly evident underneath the layery white dress that she wore, she stood leaning against the car. The couple seemed to have had an argument. 

As you passed them by, the woman lifted her eyes up and her eyes fixed on your daughter first and then on you. You gave her a warm smile, as much as your frozen cheeks were able to. 

"You've got a lovely lass," she said to you before removing her gaze from you and fixing it on the child, "Oh my, that is lovely hat." 

"Thank you," Sophie chirped; excited that someone had complimented her hat, that she had taken from your wardrobe, a hat you never really wore. 

You ran your hand carelessly through your tresses, tucking in the loose strands that had slid out from behind your ears as you gave them one last look and continued walking your way. 

You hadn't gone far, but your steps were fast; yet somehow, your ears caught the sound of someone's footsteps behind you. You paused abruptly, your fingers tightening around your daughter's hand as you turned to look back. The woman and the man had followed you, but what worried you was the silver, glistening metal in the man's hand, aimed right towards Sophie. Instinctively, you stepped in front of her, sheilding her from the direct aim of the gun. 

"Jesus, do you want money?" You pulled out your purse, jingling it so they could hear the coins and maybe, would lower that weapon down. When they didn't, you pleaded again, "Please, can you put the fucking gun down? My daughter's scared." You tried to reason with the woman, hoping she would understand. 

She only shook her head, her plump lips curving into a sly smile. 

"Now that's in your hand, he won't pull the fucking trigger if you hand her to me." 

"Now why the fuck would I do that?" You were in full combat mode now; your nostrils flared and your fists clenched against your sides.

"Hand me the fucking gun you dim wit and go get that darn lass," the woman hissed under her breath towards the man, who hurriedly nodded and handed her the gun, giving her a minute to aim the gun towards you as he started jogging in the direction you two were standing. 

"Give her to me." He snarled, reaching out with his beefy palm to grab the girl by her dress but you were fast, you grabbed Sophie and pushed her behind you immediately, pushing the man with all your might. 

"You fucking whore," he cursed, stumbling slightly backwards and he was about to lunge at you when a shot richocheted off the woman's gun in the air and everything went still; only the wailing of your daughter could be heard. 

"You'll be alright, baby. Nothing's going to happen, okay? Do you trust mummy?" You whispered softly, letting your hand trail back so you could hold her hand but suddenly, a sudden pain ripped through your body, a bullet tearing through the flesh on your arm as it pierced into you. You tumbled almost backwards with the momentum of the bullet, leaving your guard down and in that minute, the man lunged at Sophie, slamming a sack on her face. 

"NO! Let go off her!" You screamed as loud as you could, as you steadied yourself only to realise it was too late as the metal of the gun struck you in the back of your head and your eyes widened; the sound of your daughter's screaming slowly shrinking away. You struggled to stay awake but your eyes were getting blurry and your vision suddenly blackening as you fell to the floor with a sickening crack.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMEONE TOOK HIM? HOW CAN SOMEONE FUCKING GET IN AND TAKE HIM? Where the fuck was Mary? And the other fucking servants?" Thomas Shelby's voice boomed through his office as he paced up and down in front of his sister. He felt like wind had been knocked out from his chest and someone was pressing down on his throat with their foot. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't understand how someone had managed to get into his house, right under Ada's nose. 

"I swear to fucking God Tommy, I went to the fucking bathroom, for a minute. When I got out, the house was quiet. I went to Charlie's nursery to check on the children, Karl was playing with his toys, on the carpet, but the window was wide open and Charlie wasn't there." 

He was pacing up and down the room, his hand occasionally flying up to his face to rub it anxiously. He was trying to think of who could have done this. He had a handful of enemies who could have done it, but he needed to know just who it was exactly who had dared to take his son. Thomas was mentally preparing to slit the man's throat, just enough to give him a slow, torturous death, once he got Charlie back—

"Did Karl say anything? Did he bloody say anything? Ada?" 

The brown haired girl just shook her head, her face constricted with worry.

"If something happens to my boy, I'm going to bloody make sure I —" Tommy's words were interrupted by a knock on his office door. "What is it?" He almost snapped when the door was pushed open and his secretary poked her head in. 

"Lizzie, what—" 

"Before you scream at me, I wanted to inform you that there's a woman waiting outside, a fucking stubborn one. Says she knows you and what she needs to tell you cannot bloody wait." 

"Ask her to fuck off, Lizzie. My son's fucking kidnapped." 

"She told me to tell you her name, it's some (Y/N)?" She whispered, before curling her lips slightly, ready to step out and shut the door. 

"Lizzie wait. Let her come in. Ada—" He turned towards his sister, "Just bloody leave. Go home, be with Karl, I'm going to bloody figure something out. I'm going to get my boy back." He snapped at her and she just slowly left, the fear in her eyes and the strain evident on her face. On her way out, she walked past you, eyeing you as you weakly walked up to his office. 

You had somehow managed to reach the clinic and the doctor had hurriedly dressed up your bullet wound; lucky for you, it had just grazed your skin a little and no damage was done. You had then rushed out, as fast as you could, running all the way until you were finally here. 

"If it's not anything important, I don't have time." He looked at you through his glasses, motioning for you to come in.

Your face was coated with dust, and he could see a look of horror in your eyes. He knew whatever the matter was, was urgent, but he wondered if it was more urgent than going to look for Charlie. 

"Tommy—" Your lips started quivering and your eyes started watering, "they took her Tommy. They took our baby."

Tommy had never been a religious man but he had always believed in hell, and he felt like he was finally seeing a reflection of it. Weeks of hopeless searching for two, not one of his children, was proving to be futile for he was returning back home again, empty handed, without any clue.

He dreaded going back, for he knew he will have to face you—

And the look you would give him, the pain in your eyes—

Ever since your daughter was taken, you had started living at the Arrowe House, only to be there when Tommy received a news; a positive one. Another reason was that your home was nothing but a purgatory now, without your daughter. It haunted you, the emptiness. You couldn't deal with it. 

Tommy took off his coat, letting it hang on the coat hanger. The house was quiet, which was a surprise to him for he knew that you sat by the door everyday, waiting for him to come back home with a hopefulness that they had been found. But today, you weren't there. 

Confused, Tommy walked from room to room, searching for you until he spotted you from one of the windows, in the backyard, speaking to Michael. Cursing under his breath, he turned around, winding his way down the flight of stairs until he was out where the two of you were, in the backyard.

You were the first one to see him, but this time, he saw a hope in your eyes. 

"Tommy, Michael found something." 

Tommy turned to Michael immediately, his eyes narrowed as he waited for the younger boy to reply, "we found the woman and the man that took Sophie, Tommy. And they confessed, they did it for the pounds." 

"Fucking cunts." Tommy cursed, his anger evident on his face, "Who paid them? Who has them Michael?" 

"Riley Shaw." 

"That fucking bastard—" 

Tommy's eyes flew towards you and they softened for a bit. 

"Who is he, Tommy?" You whispered, your voice weak and barely audible. 

"A fucking businessman in London." 

You were not daft, you knew what the business world Tommy was talking about— the illegal one, but now was not the time to fight. You needed your child back. 

"The first train to London leaves at four, Tommy. We need to hurry if we have to catch it—" 

"We? You're not fucking going anywhere." He cut you off, mid sentence. 

"You think you can stop me Thomas? That's my fucking child out there." You hit him hard on his chest. 

"That's my fucking daughter too. And I will get her back." He spat, grabbing your fist mid air, before you could hit him one more time. 

"Listen, Thomas," you said, much calmer, but your voice strong, and your mind already made up, "If not with you, I will catch that fucking train on my own. Even if I have to look for her all over London, I bloody would." 

Thomas Shelby closed his eyes, knowing very well that you had made up your mind and that he could do nothing to change your mind. By that time, you had already turned on your tail, marching your way out of his house, when he called out, "I'm not letting you go, alone."


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character Death.

The truck clammered on; the muted roar of traffic moving towards London City. Your body swayed left and right, crashing against Tommy's sturdy shoulder once in a while. The back of the truck was silent, like a solemn funeral. No one spoke; not even John or Arthur or Johnny Dogs or Michael and Curly. 

Your face was white and pale— kissed by death; your hair a mess. John was seated in front of you, his eyes fixed on you, studying you. There was a hint of sympathy in his eyes because he remembered you and you remembered him from France. 

"Hey, look at me." 

You lifted your neck, fixing it on the cold, blue eyes of the man next to you as the truck tumbled on, "I will get her back. Do you trust me? I will get our daughter back. Yeah?"

_You wanted to look at the man dead in his eye and tell him you didn't trust him, because he had never done anything to make you trust him, but for some reason, you didn't know why — you trusted him. Tommy Shelby was many things and there were many things he never could be, like being there for you. But he was a good father to her, and you had seen it._

"Them, Thomas," your voice was just a whisper, but he'd heard it, nonetheless, a soft smile drawling over his plump lips. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, Tommy's fingers inkling with yours for a brief second as he squeezed your palm and nodded, "Yeah, them." 

The rest of the truck ride was silent, atleast as no one was talking. You kept your head resting against the metallic surface, your eyes unblinking for the most part of it, except you didn't realize when you had dozed off. It was only when the truck came to a halt, rather abruptly, causing your head to hit against the surface hard, made you throw open your eyes and look around. 

The back of the truck was empty, it was only you and Tommy in the back. 

"Where are we?" 

"South of London, another forty minutes if we keep moving." 

You looked through the other side for a bit, squinting your head to your left, a festering frown on your face.

"Then why have we stopped?" 

"The lads wanted to take a piss."

You didn't reply then, you sat back, your head resting against the metal surface, your chest slowly drawing in air as you breathed. 

"I'm scared Tommy, I—" You began, but only to bite down on your tongue when you felt tears bubbling up in your eyes, "Who is this Riley Shaw, Tom? Why did he take them? They are only but children. Innocent fucking children."

"Y/N." 

When you didn't reply, Tommy suddenly turned you to face him, his hands on your cheeks, cupping them, "Look at me." You obeyed. 

Right now, all that mattered was your girl, and he was the father of that girl. 

"When I find them, I swear, I promise, I would fucking gut their throats. We'll get the children."

His hands fell from your face, but you didn't notice, you were too busy thinking of the last time Sophie had laughed when you had tickled her before you put her to bed two nights back. 

Tommy felt you tense slightly, and he saw the way your body reacted to his touch; you broke underneath his gaze. Never had he thought, that when he would see you again, he would feel anything for you other than hatred, but here he was, sitting right next to you, watching the mother of his child on the verge of breaking down. 

Unknowingly, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and just as unknowingly, you leaned into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

Soon, the boys were all back and the truck was moving again. You could feel them looking at you now, but you didn't care. You were still resting against Thomas's shoulder and he still had his arm wrapped around you, providing you a comfortable warmth. 

Just when you let the silence engulf you again you heard Tommy whisper against your ear again. 

"I had a daughter all this while and I had no fucking clue. Why didn't you tell me?" 

You propped yourself in a sitting position again, your fingers toying with the hem of your pleated skirt, your eyes darting around for a bit. When you realized that neither of the lads were looking at you or were perhaps deliberately keeping their eyes away, you craned your neck towards him and parted your lips tears now threatening to spill out of your eyes. Finally, you swallowed the bile in your throat, and spoke. 

"You left Thomas. You left me when I needed you. You left me to do this alone, and yet, you ask me why I didn't tell you."

The lighting of a match hit your ears as Tommy's lit cigarette flew to his lips. He took a drag of it, his hand mechanically moving back down. He wasn't looking at you directly, it was as though he was looking right past you. You had hoped to see guilt in this man's eyes. But what you saw wasn't guilt. You saw anger flash through his eyes, his fingers clenching into a fist. He brought the cigarette back to his lips, smoke coiling around him as he inhaled it.

"That night at the fucking camp, I saw you with that man. Would you look me in the eye and tell me it wasn't you, ey?"

When you didn't reply, and blinked rapidly, trying to listen to him, he spoke again, much harsher than what he had been all through the ride.

"What did you expect? Did you expect me to run back to you when you were in some other lad's arms?" 

It was hurt at first. 

And then, an expression of pure horror that you gave him, and without even thinking, your face contorted and you let out a broken whimper. 

Confusion. 

An expression of confusion crossed your face next. And then, it hit you. It was like a strong wave of the sea. The only man who's arms you had explored were your brothers and of course, Thomas Shelby. You froze; you didn't move, you didn't blink, the only sign that you were alive was the way your chest moved as you breathed. "There was no one." You nodded towards him, trying to speak, but your lower lip trembled, "It was you, and it was Johnny, my brother. I don't even want to justify myself to you Tommy, you should have trusted me." You forced yourself to look away, and then it was quiet again.

Watching you pull your gaze away, listening to your words, it all made a tightness grip his chest. He realized how silly he had been, how stupid. 

His hands flew to his hair, and he swiped his palm over his face that was feeling uncontrollably warm. He felt like he was about to explode. It was him, all along. He was the fucking cause of it all. He, and his fucking stupid jealousy.

And now, the guilt hit even worse. 

Had he not forced himself into your life, atleast your daughter would have been spared. He suddenly fell forward, bending slightly, his face buried in his hands. He let the tears finally escape his heavy eyelids; he had wanted to cry, ever since Charlie was taken, and then he finally let himself. 

-

As you walked through the dusty halls, straining your eyes to find a source of light, you couldn't help but think back at how easily things had happened, far to easily for it to normal.

 _Something wasn't right._

Tommy had left you in the car with Curly; but you had broken his nose with your fist, because there was no way otherwise he would have let you out. 

_No regret._

No, you weren't going to stay in the damn truck when the rest of the boys were in there, trying to find your child.

Almost twenty minutes of wandering aimlessly through the sewers, you had luck on your side. Maybe, the boys hadn't thought of checking the sewers, but since you had, you had found one of the babies. You had found Charlie Shelby alone in a corner in a metal container, crying at the top of his lungs. 

_Again, it was too simple._ There was no one there to watch over him. Which was strange. 

You had gotten him back; handed him back to Curly, and made your way back in. You had to find Tommy. 

And you found him, finally. 

"Tommy." 

Your words sliced through the air like daggers thrown at the man. He was kneeling down, trying to cut into the iron binds that held your daughter in place. Your unconscious daughter. 

It all happened in slow motion. You felt your legs give up and you fell to your knees, reaching for her while Tommy clawed and screamed, his eyes bellowing with rage and tears, trying to free her. The girl's body was blue, bluer than the what her eyes were. She was cold; her body burning like the touch of ice. 

"She.. she's not b-breathing. She's not breathing." You kept saying it; again, and again. And again. The words kept flowing out, but your tears didn't. Watching her tiny, frail, lifeless form right there in front of you; this was a nightmare. 

_Wake up._

_Wake the fuck up._

_I want this fucking nightmare to end._

Tommy was screaming now. You could hear him scream, trying to hit the iron chain with a rock. Again, and again. 

He was broken. 

He threw up twice in front of you, hunching over, wretching his insides out, until he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and got to work again. 

"She's gone." You whispered; your voice barely there.

Grief sneaked up to you like your long lost foe, wrapping you in its wings. Numbness pounded your brain, salty tears finally flowing freely from your eyes when the reality clicked in. She was gone. 

"Tommy." You said, firmer than before. You raised your hand, smacking his shoulder hard, your palm cracking against it, making him stop trying to break that chain, "she's gone, Thomas." 

"Go call Arthur, ask him to get that fucking shovel from the car, this fucking chain won't move." He stammered. 

"Tommy." 

"Why won't you go and get Arthur—" 

You grabbed his hand, holding it tight, bringing it to your face, letting your tears drop. 

"She is dead, look at her. Look at her Tommy, our baby. She's fucking dead." 

And then you shoved him away with force you didn't know you possessed. It was like you were a new person. You screamed, you cried, loud enough to wake a whole city, you pulled your own hair and beat your own chest. 

Uncontrollable sobs wracked your body and you curled up, pulling your legs to your chest, wrapping and locking your arms around them, swaying back and forth as you cried. Your world had collapsed; and everything that you lived for was finally gone, the people you loved, the girl you had vowed to protect and keep safe from the dangers of the world when she took her first breath, gone.

You felt someone grab you and pull you to his chest. You closed your eyes, sniffling as you choked and hiccuped, letting your head rest against his chest. Tommy held you, tight, his own head lowered, as the two of you mourned the loss of your baby.


End file.
